“Even if Anthony did want to get back together, cheating is a hard limit for me. Trust and honor are on my list of what makes a great man. The bar has been set high by my dad, and I won’t settle for less. Anyway, none of this matters because I am one hundred percent focused on my future, and that includes my new promotion.”
“Congratulations on that, by the way. I’m not exactly sure what you do, but it’s something fancy with numbers, so cheers to that!” She raises her wineglass and takes a hefty sip. “However, when you mention your future, you are including a soon-to-be love interest, right?”
I bite my lip. “Well, I wouldn’t be completely against meeting a nice guy.”
“Speaking of nice, your boyfriend is working tonight.” Sienna smashes her lips together.
Her eyes roam to something behind the bar as her eyebrows lift in delight. There’s no need for me to turn around to know who she’s staring at.
Jesse Grant.
With dirty-blond hair and blue-green eyes, he’s the opposite of every man who walks into this club. His jaw is masculine, yet his skin looks soft and golden. He’s rugged and clean-cut at the same time. And his smile—oh man, that smile—is dazzling, the kind that crinkles around his eyes.
I hit her on the thigh for speaking so loudly, and she giggles. Jesse is most definitely not my boyfriend. He’s not even a friend, really. He’s nice though and funny in a reserved way.
As I sneak another glimpse over my shoulder, he notices me, and his cheeks rise with a twinkle in his eye.
“You’re blushing,” Sienna observes, and I widen my eyes in an attempt to quiet her. “He’s smiling at you.”
“His salary is ninety percent tips. He smiles at everyone like that.”
She shakes her head with a wicked grin. “I wish.”
My jaw lowers. “I didn’t know you had a thing for Jesse.”
With a shoulder shimmy, she combs her long tresses. “Oh my God, who wouldn’t? He’s so Leonardo DiCaprio circa early 2000s. Super-hot. But it would be for only, like, a night because he’s … you know.” She trails off, and I have to tilt my head in wonder at where she’s going with this, so she leans forward and whispers, “Not Italian.”
I let out an exasperated laugh. “Okay. I thought you were going to say it was because he’s a bartender.”
“Oh, yes. For sure, that too. My father would kill me—and I mean, literally kill me—if I came home with a white-bread bartender.”
I’d argue with her, but she’s right. While my uncle Frankie wouldn’t murder his child, he would disown her if she brought home anyone who wasn’t of the heritage and economic standing of his approval. In short, Sienna needs a rich Italian boy.
I glance at Jesse as he laughs at something someone at the bar said. It’s a great laugh. The kind that makes you think what you just said was the funniest thing in the world. Sienna seems to appreciate that laugh as well, but she won’t act on it. Not with her father’s requirements. Plus, she likes the finer things in life, and a boyfriend with a tip-based income wouldn’t suffice.
I’m the complete opposite, as I plan to make my own path. I don’t need a man with money to buy me things or provide a certain lifestyle. That’s what the women in this family desire. All I want is a good man. Someone who values family, works hard, and makes me laugh.
“Moscow mule.” Jesse startles me as he appears on the other side of the bar top, sliding a copper cup over to me.
My heart races as I smile at the sentiment. “You read my mind.” I lift the glass in cheers and take a sip.
“Well, you’re the only one here who drinks those. I ordered more of the organic ginger beer you like. Don’t tell my manager though. It’s pricier than the crap they have in the back.” He winks.
“I appreciate it.”
Sienna shows her bottom teeth with how awkwardly she’s smiling. Like she has something she’s dying to say. “So, Jesse, Amelia and I were talking about where to go tonight.”
I lift my head. “We were?”
“Yes,” she says adamantly and continues, “we were thinking of hitting up Club Elektra. It’s in an abandoned warehouse in Williamsburg. You should come.”
I cringe at the thought. Clubs are not my cup of tea. Neither is excessive drinking, pills, strobe lights, or the sweaty, unwanted hands of men who are seeking a partner on the dance floor.
Jesse narrows his eyes, as if he’s trying to read my reaction. “I’m not a club kind of guy. Plus, there’s a no-fraternization policy here. Staff and members can’t hang out.”
“That’s a shame,” Sienna says with a puppy-dog face.
“Sorry, ladies. Give me a minute.” Jesse’s attention is drawn to the back of the room, where Uncle Frankie is holding up a hand, asking for more drinks for him and the men he’s with. Jesse knows to drop everything and take care of him.
Uncle Frankie is demanding in that respect. He commands a sort of loyalty from everyone around him, including my father, who is standing beside him. The two aren’t brothers but are so close that they consider each other family, and therefore, they have bestowed titles of familial distinction onto the other. Come to think of it, as I look around the room, I can count at least ten uncles here who aren’t related to me by blood.
Uncle Frankie and my father are deep in conversation. They’re close talkers, and they use their hands in a dramatic fashion, even when what they’re discussing is as simple as the weather. With their finely threaded suits and combed-back hair, they look like they came right out of the movie Goodfellas. An outsider would say they’re the epitome of Italian Mafioso, picturing airport heists, cocaine distribution, and Joe Pesci killing another man for mentioning he once shined shoes as a kid.
But that’s only in the
